


Selections from The Book of Daenerys Stormborn

by goldandbeloved



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), The Pillow Book - Sei Shônagon
Genre: F/M, Jonerys, Journal, Love, Poetry, Romance, pillow book, secret sansa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-24
Updated: 2018-01-24
Packaged: 2019-03-08 21:20:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13466757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldandbeloved/pseuds/goldandbeloved
Summary: Happy Secret Sansa 2015, SketchDitto!(Not my usual ship, but lots of fun. Any Stark/Targaryen mistakes are all mine.)Note: This is based on the writings of Sei Shonagon, a Japanese courtier from the 11th century; her work is a collection of poetry, poetic prose, and observations.





	Selections from The Book of Daenerys Stormborn

It is So Frightfully Cold  
I think my eyes might freeze to amethysts, to tumble on the ground. How can any eyes stand these knives of ice, any body stand this shivering? How can he stand there, a soot-black statue as snow falls around him?  
I am a queen. I do not shiver.  
I will stand like a statue of silver, with eyes of amethyst and let the snow fall.

On The Third Day of the Third Month  
We touched hands; his were fire, sent an arc of blue flame through my blood.  
He said that mine were white frost, ice. He kissed them, fingertips to palm, slowly, sweetly.  
As I write, my hands are warm.

Different Ways of Speaking  
The commands of a queen; firm and bright as silver.  
The commands of a soldier, jagged and sharp as rough-forged iron.  
The oath of fealty, strong as true steel, solid as a pledge of love.  
The whispers of lovers, like petals falling in the darkness.

Splendid Things  
A red door in the sunlight. The sound of bells and the scent of crushed grass.  
The falling of snow. Sparks rising from a blaze.  
The moment of first flight.  
A bed of wood and furs. A leather doublet under my fingertips, pale skin beneath my hands.  
Eyes that flicker like the feathers of a raven, black with worlds of color within.  
Lips that dizzy like cups of wine.

 

In Spring It Is The Dawn  
I have seen; a king with the head of a wolf, blood spilled on tables, lions strangled by roses, fire made flesh, a throne beneath a snowy sky. I have touched my children's’ scaled heads, can tell each of them apart with my eyes closed.  
I have listened to breath stop, have listened to breath quicken with desire.  
I have tasted: snow on my tongue, frozen fire. Honeyed locusts. Mutton stew rich and meaty when I was hungry. Snow-named lips that are warm and sweet, lovelier than plum brandy or honeyfingers, that dizzy me like dreamwine.  
We will feel: Sunlight on our faces. Frozen ground that melts and cracks to mud, softens to grow green shoots. Hands touching as we take the first steps along the aisle, catch the scent of iron on the air, look up to see its height, its thousand blades. The sky kissing the earth with warm breezes that brush our cheeks like feathers. The newness of the dawn of the day that becomes spring.


End file.
